


His kind

by eerian_sadow



Series: Half-Breeds [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Prejudice, Wtf where did this au come from?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Optimus takes Prowl out for dinner, they recieve an incredibly rude surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His kind

**Author's Note:**

> So! A little backstory before you dive into this. (Not much, don't worry!)
> 
> This piece is set in an AU where Praxus/Praxians became so isolated because they were shunned for being half-breeds. (Not Seeker enough to be able to fly, too winged to belong on the ground.) Over time, shunning turned into outright racism and prejudice, and most Praxians don't find it worth the effort to go out into the wider world when they'll just have to deal with constant hatred.
> 
> But then a young dock worker became Prime, and a young Praxian with nothing to lose answered a help-wanted ad looking for a data analyst in Iacon...
> 
> This is set many, many months after they first meet.

A hush fell over the restaurant as Optimus Prime stepped through the door, though the quiet quickly turned to quickly whispered gossip when the bot's in the dining room saw his companion.

Prowl forced himself to keep his head high and his wings lifted proudly behind him, rather than making himself as small as possible and fleeing after a hastily muttered apology. 

“Nothing they can say here will be worse than Ratbat after he found out that I had appointed you as my tactical advisor.” The red and blue mech kept his voice soft, just audible above the crowd's whispering. “You belong here as much as they do.”

“A Primal decree cannot force them to like me.” The Praxian’s voice was equally soft.

“No, but it can make them learn to live with you, which will in turn lead to eventual acceptance.”

“Neither you nor I will live to see that day.”

“Perhaps not, but we will pave the way forward for our sparklings and theirs.” Optimus smiled at his companion and then turned to face the approaching host. “Good evening. A table for two, please.”

“I am afraid we are out of tables for two,” the host replied. “We would be happy to seat your lordship at a single seat near the window.”

“Odd.” The Prime pretended not to notice the way Prowl’s wings drooped and he looked down at the floor. “I called to confirm availability not ten joors ago.”

“You were informed in error, my lord.”

“I understand. Please do not reprimand the staff harshly; any mechanism could make such a simple mistake.” Optimus ised their linked arms to pull Prowl a bit closer. “We don't mind waiting until a table opens.”

“I apologize my lord.” The host set his shoulders and let his server’s smile fall away. “It is highly unlikely that a table will open up tonight.”

The red and blue mech narrowed his opics, though his own smile didn't falter. He had expected this--life with Prowl involved a great deal of intolerance and abhorrent behavior from other mechs. “And why is that? There are no others waiting in front of us.”

The host ground his dental plates together audibly before replying. “We do not serve _his_ kind here.”

“Oh. I see.” Optimus slid his arm out from Prowl’s and shifted his hand to the Praxian’s back, supporting the clearly embarrassed mech. “Please explain to the manager then, that if you do not serve Praxians, then you do not serve Primes in this establishment either.”

The dining hall exploded with a flurry of exclaimations at his words. The host sputtered and tried to find an appropriate reply. Optimus gently turned his companion around and led him back out the door.

Prowl was shaking when the stepped onto the sidewalk. “You do not have to do things like that.”

“If I do not, then who will?” Uncaring of who might see, the Prime wrapped his arms around the smaller mech, holding Prowl close and giving him as much comfort as possible. “Besides, you know that I live my beliefs. Even if I did not care for you so very much, I would stand up for any Praxian the same way.”

“Til all are one?” Prowl’s voice held the slightest smile and Optimus kissed him on top of his head.

“Just so. Now, I still need fuel. What places here in Iacon are friendly to Praxians?”

“Jazz’s on Crystal Lane, Maccadam’s and the Lightspeed Bar over by the race track.” Prowl looked up at the larger mech, worry erasing his momentary good humor. “I'm afraid none of them are likely to welcome a noble with open arms.”

“I was a dock worker long before I was Prime.” Optimus loosened one arm from around Prowl so they could begin walking. “I haven't forgotten how to fit in with a crowd of normal mechs and femmes, even if I look like I just came from a Towers cocktail party.”

“You don't have to do this for me.”

“Have to? No. But I want to.”


End file.
